Murder at Birchwood Pond

by Jade Astor

  Bryce heaved a theatrical sigh. “Well, no matter. As it happens, Plan B is on his way over here right now.” Eagerly he motioned to someone behind Darian. “Perfect timing! I have a feeling you two will hit it off. I have an instinct for these things, you know. Tell him, Hanson.”

  “I have to admit that he does,” Hanson said, suppressing a grin of admiration.

  “There, you see? He wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. He has no knack for white lies or social fibs at all. Ah, here we are. Argo, come and say hello to Darian. I was just telling him that you’re the man to meet tonight.”

  Darian was sure he’d heard wrong. Surely there couldn’t be two men in the area with the same unusual name. He looked in the direction Bryce had indicated, and his jaw dropped in shock. Argo Sullivan himself was making his way over to them, wearing a casual grin and another of those ubiquitous plaid flannel shirts. Darian realized it was Argo he had seen making his way into the auditorium just before the concert started.

  “I’ll leave you two to talk now,” Bryce said. “He’s new in town, Argo, so don’t scare him off.”

  “So you found this place,” Argo said once Bryce had dragged Hanson off to work the rest of the room. “I wondered how long it would take you. You seem stunned to see me here.”

  “That’s the understatement of the century,” Darian finally managed to sputter. “I mean, yeah, I am. Did you follow me here?” As soon as he said it, he realized how silly that sounded. Bryce and Hanson clearly knew him. Then again, maybe he’d come here undercover. Cops didn’t spy on gay people that way anymore, surely. Or were they just more discreet about it now?

  “Nope.” Argo’s smile widened. “Simple fact is that I’m a member, too. Have been for a while.”

  “Oh.” Darian wondered if the doorman had given Argo a large discount as well. He suspected the answer was yes.

  “As far as putting you under surveillance, you don’t imagine anyone in small-town government would authorize that kind of overtime? Or that I suspect you of traveling to commit nefarious deeds?”

  Darian scowled. “Is that a trick question? Because I can think of one obvious reason—well, at least it seemed that way at the time.”

  “I know how it must have looked to you. Again, I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have expected you to read my mind—especially since I wasn’t at all sure what I was thinking myself.”

  Darian felt himself softening a bit, but he was careful not to show it. He still wondered if this was one of Argo’s detection strategies. “I’m sure you checked out my background,” he said in a cold voice. “Not so much as a parking ticket. Two socially conscious moms. Membership in progressive social organizations. Not serial killer material, surely.”

  “You might be surprised,” Argo said. Still, he didn’t deny running a background check.

  Darian noticed that a few of the people around them, hearing the words “serial killer” and other choice tidbits, had fallen silent and were blatantly listening in on their conversation. Argo realized it too.

  “Would you like some coffee?” he asked, catching Darian completely off guard. He gestured toward a row of folding chairs arranged along the back wall. People were taking them and rearranging them in circles so they could chat while they enjoyed their refreshments. “We could grab some seats and talk more privately.”

  Still feeling a bit dazed by the whole unexpected turn of events, Darian dutifully followed him to the refreshments table. Minutes later, he and Argo were seated in the corner, sipping surprisingly good coffee from disposable cups. He decided to go along with the charade of casual comradery, assuming that’s what it was. He planned to be careful about what he revealed.

  “Have you known Bryce and Hanson a long time?” he asked cautiously.

  Argo shrugged. “You could say that. They helped me through a rough time in my life. I’ll always be grateful for that, though now they seem to think ensuring my happiness is their responsibility.”

  “It’s nice of them to care.” Darian assumed the rough time Argo referred to had to with his coming out. That couldn’t have been easy in a small rural area like this one. Being a gay cop was hard enough in big, diverse cities, from what he understood. What was worse, he wondered—trying to keep it a secret or dealing with the fallout once people knew? He also wondered if Argo’s family might have rejected him when they found out. Was that where Bryce came in?

  Or was Argo just manipulating him?

  “Yeah. They’re good guys. And now it appears Bryce’s taking you under his sparkly gossamer wing too. I hope that doesn’t make us stepbrothers. That would be awkward.” He laughed, but Darian didn’t join in. Argo’s face tightened. “I really blew things with you, didn’t I? Apparently a simple apology isn’t going to be enough.”

  Darian lifted his shoulders in a stiff shrug. “You don’t owe me an apology of any kind. Or even an explanation. You had a death to investigate. I get that.”

  “Darian, look. I don’t want it to be like this between us. We got off on the wrong foot. No argument there. But I hope we can move forward.”

  Darian sipped his coffee, but paused as a new thought struck him. “Does that mean you’ve come to a conclusion about what caused Timothy’s death?”

  He’d struck a nerve. He saw Argo draw back a little and narrow his eyes. “Why do you say that?”

  “I know you’ve been searching the pond, probably for that towel Timothy supposedly didn’t have with him. Did you find it after all, proving that his drowning was an accident?”

  “There have been some developments. I can’t talk about it beyond that.”

  “I understand. But hopefully that means the case will be wrapping up soon. It would be best if everyone at Birchwood could start the healing process.”

  “I get that.” Argo sighed and rubbed his forehead as if to ward off a headache. “Some of the parents have called the station, wanting to make sure their sons are safe. They’ve probably been calling the headmistress, too.”

  “Could be. She wouldn’t share that kind of thing with the faculty. I’m sure she can handle it, though. She seems competent.”

  “Oh, yeah. She’s an old hand at this kind of thing.” Argo said cryptically. Before Darian could ask what he meant by that, Argo redirected the conversation. “What about your parents? Did you tell them what happened?”

  “Yes. I figured they’d see it on the Internet, since they have the school’s web page bookmarked. I thought it would be better if they heard it from me. I didn’t go into detail, since I figured the website wouldn’t either.”

  “What was their reaction?”

  “About what you’d expect,” Darian said, surprised by Argo’s interest. “They were saddened and horrified. What else would they say?”

  “Just curious.” Argo’s manner became evasive. “I know how overprotective my mother was when I left home. I can only imagine how it would be with two of them worrying about you. What do they do for a living?”

  “One manages a hotel and the other is a college professor.” Darian heard a note of defensiveness creep into his tone. He knew where this line of questions was going, and he didn’t like it any better now than he had the first hundred or so times it had happened. Once people found out about Ange and Riki, they tended to quiz him as though he’d been raised by wolves or on some alien planet. Even gay acquaintances tended not to believe him when he insisted his family was as ordinary, even as boring, as any other.

  “How did they meet?”

  “In college during their senior year. They’ve been together ever since.”

  “Which one actually gave birth to you? Or were you adopted?”

  Another frequent question. “Nope, I was born in the usual way. As for which one of them checked into the maternity ward, they wouldn’t tell me for the longest time. Finally I wheedled it out of them when I became a legal adult and felt I had a right to know. I’m sworn to secrecy, though. Sorry.”

  Argo opened his mouth, but Darian spoke bef
ore he had a chance to.

  “I know what your next question is. You’re going to ask if I know who my biological father is. The answer is yes. I’ve met him. He’s a gay man they’ve been friends with forever. I call him my uncle. I’ve never thought of him in any other way.”

  “That’s interesting. Very progressive.”

  Darian knew what he was probably thinking. With genes like that, it was no wonder Darian had turned out gay. “It’s really no big deal. When same-sex marriage became legal in Florida, he stood up as best man for both of them. And there I was, a college student myself, watching my parents finally get married for real. It was a long, hard-fought battle they never gave up on. I was proud of all three of them.”

  “I can imagine.” He was gratified that Argo seemed genuinely impressed. “Have they come up here to visit you?”

  “Not yet. But it could happen.” As he always did when people asked him prying questions, Darian turned the tables. He wanted other people knew what it felt like to be quizzed relentlessly about things that seemed wholly unremarkable in the course of their daily lives. “What about you? Any exciting family dynamics?”

  “My family isn’t that interesting. Run-of-the-mill middle class New Englanders. My father died when I was a teenager. My mother’s relatives helped raise me and my sister. It was tough, but we made it. We stuck together.”

  Darian felt a stab of guilt. Maybe Argo hadn’t been asking about his family just to feel superior. From the sound, he’d had it a lot rougher than Darian had. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It was a long time ago,” Argo said tautly. He finished his coffee in one quick swig and crumpled the paper cup against his knee. “I’ve adjusted.”

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Darian pulled on his sweats and headed out for a Sunday run.

  He hadn’t hit the pavement since that morning by the pond when he’d found Timothy. The memory of that terrible morning made him less than eager to go, but he knew starting up again would only be harder if he put it off. Besides, this time he had a secondary motive. He wanted to see if Everett had made it home the night before, and hear what he had to say for himself about his impromptu and disrespectful exit.

  Everett lived on a quiet, tree-lined road dotted with modest, well-kept single-family dwellings. Aside from a single minivan backing out of a shrub-framed driveway, he saw no signs of activity at such an early hour. Darian had been there once before, for an end-of-summer faculty function where, as a new hire, he’d met some of his colleagues. He had no trouble finding it again on foot.

  Two cars sat in the drive way of Everett’s tidy red-brick house, which caught Darian off guard. The prospect of one belonging to Kurt almost made him turn around, but just then the curtains in the front window moved. A moment later, Everett stepped out onto the porch in a bathrobe and wet hair, holding a mug. He beckoned with his free hand.

  “I thought that was you,” he called. “Come on in. We were just having coffee.”

  Again Darian hesitated until Quin appeared in the doorway behind Everett.

  “You’re a welcome sight, Darian,” Quin said. “Everett is hardly even coherent, let alone civilized, until he’s had several cups of coffee. So far he’s only on his second.”

  “You remember Quin, I’m sure.” Everett waved his coffee cup without turning around. “And you wouldn’t be in a very civil mood either if you’d had a night like I did. Thankfully, Quin was able to come and pick me up. He also helped me cancel all my credit cards online. Don’t know how I would have managed it without him, especially after being up all night.”

  Quin laughed, stepping aside so Darian could enter the house. “You have no one but yourself to blame, Everett. I’ve warned you before about these unplanned little get-togethers. More often than not, they turn out the same way.”

  “Wait.” Darian looked from one to the other. “What happened? Did you get stranded last night?”

  “In a matter of speaking.” Everett rolled his eyes. “I’m afraid the reunion with Kurt didn’t go as well as I had hoped. His ex turned up, and my wallet mysteriously disappeared while my pants were otherwise engaged. Well, let’s not get into all of that. What’s done is done. Thankfully, Quin was able to pick me up this morning. I didn’t want to call you, under the circumstances. I was afraid you’d tell me to pound sand after the way I ditched you last night.”

  “You’re probably right,” Darian said as Everett led him into the kitchen and dropped down at the table.

  “Anyway, you can take comfort in the fact that karma avenged you by biting me most decisively in the nether regions.” Everett motioned for Quin to freshen his coffee, which he did with barely suppressed amusement. “So? How did it go at the concert?”

  “It was okay.” Darian affected a nonchalant tone. “About what you’d expect.”

  “So you did meet someone interesting. I can hear it in your voice. There, you see? No harm done. In fact you could say I did you a favor. No one would have sought you out with an old fogey like me hovering over you. And you had your car, so it wasn’t as though you got stranded. I wasn’t so lucky in any sense of the word.”

  “I’m actually not looking for anyone right now,” Darian said, suddenly flustered.

  “Everyone says that when they’re single. If it were true even half the time, no one would ever hook up and the world would be a far sadder place. So spill.”

  “Really, I’d just as soon not go there right now. I’m too busy even to think of trying to balance a relationship, along with everything else I have to do. There’s nothing at all wrong with wanting to be single for a while.”

  “Very well. We’ll table the issue for now.” Everett gave a theatrical sigh as Quin brought two more cups of coffee to the table and pushed one toward Darian.

  “Here you go. Fresh and hot. Just the way Everett likes it.” He winked.

  “Oh, please.” Everett sniffed. “Let’s just say that after last night, I’m rethinking my misguided predilections.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Quin said. Darian noticed that he was nattily dressed, complete with a lambswool sweater-vest and Birchwood tie, and wondered if he were on his way to the school for some reason.

  “Big meeting with Jeanette at ten,” Quin explained as if reading his thoughts. “The trustees are helping her plan an official memorial service for young Mr. Pryor. You’ll both be invited, of course, which is a polite way of saying you’ll be ordered to attend. From what I’ve heard so far, it’s turning into quite the social event.”

  “I wonder if Sheriff Sullivan will be attending, too,” Darian said, thinking out loud. Everett gave him a strange look, as though he might have had an idea just whom Darian had run into at the Granite Carnation. He made a grunting sound to indicate his displeasure with the man in question.

  “Of course he will. On cop shows, the detective always shows up at the funeral so he can keep an eye open for anyone acting suspiciously. Actually, considering it’s Birchwood, he’ll need considerably more than one eye. Hope he has several deputies.”

  Quin answered Darian as if Everett hadn’t spoken. “I would assume we’ll see him there, and you can also expect one or two newsworthy faces. Prominent parents, you know.”

  “Oh?” That wasn’t a surprise. Nearly every Birchwood student came from a well-to-do family, but Darian decided to feign ignorance. He was genuinely curious about Timothy’s parents.

  “The mother is some bigwig in the New Hampshire state legislature,” Quin told him. “The father is a bigshot lawyer who’s put out feelers about running for governor or Congress. You know the type. Contacts in Washington, million dollar weekend home on the seacoast, the whole nine yards.”

  “All true,” Everett grumbled. “Dear Timothy often made a point of mentioning his family’s assets in his essays. Those passages, in fact, were some of the very few that were not plagiarized from the Internet. Don’t think I didn’t catch the significance.”

  Quin nodded.
“The school can’t afford to tick them off. And I mean that literally. They’ll send Timothy off in the grand style.”

  “Makes sense,” Darian admitted. It was no secret that Birchwood’s main source of income ran through the rarified veins of the school’s blueblooded alumni and their sons. He stirred some sugar into his coffee. “Do you think they’ll bring a lawsuit against the school? I mean, in their view Timothy’s drowning could be the result of negligence, especially considering the previous accident in that same pond.”

  “Must we bring that up at the table?” Everett stiffened and set his cup down. “Lately it seems like every time I sit down at the table, the conversation is peppered with discussions of dead bodies.”

  “It’s an unappetizing tale, for sure,” Quin agreed. “No surprise that people are talking about it again, considering this latest development. What have you heard, Darian?”

  “Not much. All I know is that an older teacher met the same unfortunate end as Timothy. Sheriff Sullivan seemed cagey when I mentioned it. No one seems to have much information, or at least none they’re willing to share.”

  “No surprise there. They were equally tight-lipped about it twenty years ago, when it happened, and for good reason.” Everett sighed. “His name was Roderick Talbott. He’d taught here for I don’t know how long before it happened. In fact, he acted as something of a mentor to me in my first few years here. I can’t say that we were ever friends, though. Talbott wasn’t the sort who wanted friends. Very much a loner of the supercilious variety.”

  Quin sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Poor Rod. That’s how we always referred to him—though not to his face, of course. When I was a student, we called him even worse stuff on occasion, but let’s not get into that. I admit we were immature, spoiled brats. Most Birchwood boys are.”

  “He was your teacher?”

  “Yep. That alone shows you how long he’d been here. The guy was practically an institution himself. Birchwood was his whole life. And in the end, it ended his life.” Quin shook his head sadly. “The whole thing was tragic. It should never have gone the way it did. I guess he just didn’t see any way out once his sins had been uncovered.”